People have to come gradually to take an interest in such things.”
“It’s very good in you, Julia, to be willing to pay the expense of getting the flowers to town.”
“Oh, no, it is n’t. You know that I have money to spare, and I love to spend it in such ways as this. Before you spoke, I was thinking about those children and the flowers, and it made me feel quite melancholy that we were going back to the seashore where it is so green and beautiful, and so cool compared with the city. Another summer, perhaps we can plan to do more for the poor little things who have so little to enjoy.”
The train had now gone far beyond the bridges near the mouth of the Charles and the Mystic, past Charlestown, where the grim walls of the State-prison and the gray spire of Bunker Hill Monument were seen fairly near at hand. They had passed through the outskirts of one or two less interesting suburbs, and now they were skirting the broad Lynn marshes, bounded far to the west by woods and distant hills, and again, looking toward the east, they had glimpses of the cool, blue sea. Yet Julia, delightful though she found the scenery through which the swift express passed, still had a feeling of dissatisfaction with herself. Why should it be her lot to have in prospect the delights of a summer by the sea, when all those poor, pinched little children must spend the long, hot weeks in the worst streets of a crowded city.
“Julia,” cried Nora, “you look as if you were dreaming.
